


Give Me Hope in the Darkness

by RewriteDestiny



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 9x23, 9x23 spoilers, Angst, Demon!Dean, Fluff, I CAN'T DECIDE MAYBE BOTH?, M/M, SPN 9X23
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-22
Updated: 2014-05-22
Packaged: 2018-01-26 04:15:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1674365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RewriteDestiny/pseuds/RewriteDestiny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>9x23 SPOILERS! Dean has tried to conceal his new identity and is determined to just slip away quietly without confessing. Castiel, however, can see right through him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Give Me Hope in the Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, writing a summary without giving away the big finale is almost impossible.  
> So, I went to A12 last weekend and Misha Collins personally told me that I might not survive the finale. He was correct. I have been in bits for the past day (even though we kinda knew it was coming) and I wondered what would happen if Dean planned to keep his new demonic status a secret from everybody, and how Castiel would try and make him see reason. This is the result. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy and that it somehow lessens the blow of the finale. I'm currently suffering from post-con blues AND post-finale blues so I'm just gonna write Destiel until I feel better again. 
> 
> Title is from 'Ghosts That We Knew' by Mumford and Sons. 
> 
> Happy reading guys :)

“Dean ... what are you doing?”

Dean froze mid-step. He was so close to the door, so close to getting out without anyone seeing him, so close to an escape. 

He reminded himself to breathe, feeling the now-pointless rhythm of his lungs as they tried to sustain a human body that was no longer necessary. He needed to try and act normal but it was becoming impossible. What he truly was had begun to vibrate throughout his being. Dean clenched his fists, desperate to quell the shaking, and squeezed his eyes tight to try and absolve the darkness in them. 

“What’s it look like I’m doing?” asked Dean with a forced nonchalance, refusing to turn around and face the angel that was behind him, “I’m going out! What, a guy comes back from the dead and can’t enjoy a few beers and a strip club?”

“Why are you taking your bag?” asked Castiel, his voice as gruff as ever. 

An irrational rage stirred in Dean’s chest and he knew that it was a reaction from the repressed demon inside of him. He was so close to the bunker’s door. All he had to do was reach the steps and then he could make a run for it. He steadfastly refused to turn around as he said “what’s with the inquisition? I’ll be back soon.” 

“Dean-“

“Lay off Cas, I told you I’ll be back soon,” growled Dean, the dark edges of his demonic eyes beginning to obscure his vision. He had to get out before Castiel realised what he was, before he sensed something was really wrong. He made a hasty move towards the door but Castiel was too quick for him and suddenly the angel was at his side. 

“Dean-“Castiel repeated, so close to Dean now that he could feel the heat coming off the angel’s vessel. Everything about Cas was different now; Dean could smell caramel and salt on him, he could see the stark white light that constantly surrounded him. 

Rage began to creep through Dean. Who was this angel to stop him from doing anything? Castiel was close now, so close, and all Dean had to do was reach out and wrap his hands around the angel’s neck. A growl sounded from his throat, feral and dangerous. 

“Dean,” Castiel’s voice was gentle now, or as gentle as he knew how to make it, “I know what you are.” 

That shocked Dean back to himself for just a moment. The rage quietened for a second but it still took all of his self control to spit out “you – you have no idea – what you’re talking about.” 

Dean couldn’t trust himself to look at the angel. He didn’t have full control over his eyes and knew that they could flicker to black at any moment. The demonic part of him would gain full control very soon and he needed to be far away from the bunker when that happened. He stood stock still, forgetting even to look as if he were breathing. 

“I am an angel,” said Castiel, matter-of-factly, “I see through every vessel.”

A wave of very human panic hit Dean. That meant Castiel had known all along. Was he here to kill him? That would be the best thing, to put a knife through his heart (again) and end all this. He no longer feared death, he feared what he was becoming much more. 

“Are you here to kill me?” asked Dean, his voice low as he slowly tipped his head up to look at Castiel.

Castiel stared back at him with the same expression as he always had, “no.” 

Dean was confused. “Then – let me go.” 

Castiel’s eyebrows furrowed in a way that had once made Dean’s heart skip a beat. Suddenly a crushing sadness filled the hunter. There were so many things that would have to be left unsaid. 

“What?” asked Castiel, his bright blue gaze fixed upon Dean’s face in confusion. 

“Cas I’m begging you, just let me go.” 

Dean knew he sounded wrecked, he could hear the desperation in his own voice. Yet the demon was stronger. It felt like vomit forcing its way up his throat, begging to let free. He needed to get far away, where he couldn’t hurt anyone. 

“You have to tell Sam,” said Castiel, standing like a statue at Dean’s side. 

“No!” barked Dean, abruptly backing away from the angel, “he can’t know! I’m just gonna leave before – before it fully takes hold.” 

“You have nowhere to go,” replied Castiel, his eyes boring into Dean’s. 

“Of course I do,” spat Dean, fear and rage coiling up in his stomach until he could no longer tell where human ended and demon began, “where do all monsters go? To Hell!”

“Dean –“ Castiel started, taking a slow step towards the hunter. 

Dean felt the demon forcing its way up his throat and suddenly his eyes flickered black, shifting the world into sepia shades of brown, “Shut up! Just shut up!” 

His voice no longer sounded like his own. It was the voice of a wild thing. Anger burnt inside of him and demonic power began to buzz through his veins. Dean rounded on Castiel, knowing he could kill the angel with just a flick of his fingers. 

“I am not afraid of you, Dean,” murmured Castiel, his eyes still focussed on the hunter and his expression still fixed into a look of steady calm. 

Something inside Dean broke. 

“Why not?” the hunter found himself saying, the rage slowly dying down and being replaced with overwhelming shame, “you should be. I am.” 

Castiel shook his head, taking another small step towards the hunter, “You are still Dean Winchester.”

“NO!” Dean cried, slowly backing away from the angel in an attempt to do no harm, “no I am not. Dean Winchester died. I am a damned demon but I’m too much of a coward to end it myself. Just let me go.” 

Dean found himself breathing unnecessarily again, but this time it was a rasping, painful sound that came from his chest. 

“What will Sam think?” asked the angel, his head inclined slightly to one side in what could have been sympathy. 

“I don’t care,” growled Dean, though the words pained him to say, “let him think I abandoned him, or got myself killed, anything other than this.” 

The rattling in Dean’s chest grew louder and the hunter knew it was the human emotion fighting for dominance over the demon. The feeling of nausea hit him like a tonne of bricks and he fell to his knees, feeling his once green eyes flicker back to black. 

“Cas ...” Dean panted, squeezing his eyes shut and putting his hands on the cold floor to try and centre himself, “please ... please don’t look at me ...” 

But Castiel had never done what he was told. 

“You forget that I once raised you from the deepest reaches of hell. I sewed the tattered scraps of your soul back together. I have seen you in far worse conditions than this.” 

Dean could see Hell in his mind. He remembered how it felt to tear at another soul, to poke and prod until they were screaming. His stomach roiled and he braced himself to heave but it came out as a wild, unnatural laugh. 

“Dean, you have saved humanity a hundred times,” the angel’s voice was calm as he carefully walked towards Dean’s convulsing body. He crouched down next to the hunter, close enough for Dean to be reassured by his warmth and the smell of caramel. “You have saved me more times than I can count. You will never truly be a demon unless you give into it. 

Dean could feel Castiel beside him, just as he always had. He could feel those eyes on his skin, the colour of the sky on a hot summer’s day, and he wanted nothing more than to reach out and hold Castiel to him, to feel the angelic light wrap around his ice cold body. But the demonic power was stronger than ever. It was coursing through him and he was still on all fours, bracing himself against the convulsions. He forced himself to speak. 

“That’s where you’re wrong,” he gasped, the sickness becoming so overwhelming that he felt himself wretch and closed his black eyes from the colour-drained world, “from the moment I first set foot in Hell it has all been leading to this. I was always going to become this. Alasdair saw it, Famine saw it, hell even Bobby saw it. All paths would eventually lead here ...” 

Suddenly, Dean felt himself crash backwards into the metal steps that lead out of the bunker. His black eyes flung open and he saw Castiel stood opposite him, angelic light flowing through him. 

Rage filled Dean up. It flooded into every part of him until he was buzzing with it. Castiel was just an angel that needed to be destroyed. Dean was going to pick him apart piece by piece. 

CRASH! 

Dean was flung towards the ground again, pinned on his back onto the cold stone floor by angelic forces that he could not control. 

An inhuman roar escape his lips and he was ready to rip the angel apart. He was a demon and this was what he did best. He growled as he fought against the invisible hands. Dean needed to kill, he needed to feel the life draining out of the angel, but he could barely move. 

“You may be a demon,” said Castiel, quietly, “but you still have limited control over your power. I am still stronger than you.” 

Dean roared again and broke free of the invisible chains just as Castiel pounced onto his body, his legs straddling Dean’s hips and his hands pinning Dean’s wrists above his head. 

Dean fought long and hard against the angel. He struggled with all of his might, the demonic power rushing through his veins, but he could not escape. His struggling was futile. Castiel just sat atop him, his body pinning Dean down and his eyes narrowing in concern. 

Slowly, the rage within Dean began to ebb. It quietened down and was soon replaced by shame. Instead of fighting against the urge to kill, Dean was now fighting the urge to break down and sob. He stared up into Castiel’s bright blue eyes and his own eyes slowly returned to their natural green colour. The angel glanced down at him with sadness as he slowly removed his hands from Dean’s wrists and ran a thumb over Dean’s wet cheeks instead. 

Dean didn’t want the angel to see him cry and he tried to squirm away but a strong hand cupped his cheek and forced him to look back up. 

They stared at each other for a long time, unbidden tears still falling from Dean’s eyes as he thought about how different things could have been. He and Cas had come so close so many times. Soon he would be gone, and this moment would be all they ever had. 

When Castiel finally spoke, his voice was soft. 

“The bravest creature I have ever known once told me that he would rather have me, cursed or not,” his hand was still on Dean’s cheek as he leant his body down further, so that when he spoke again Dean could feel the angel’s breath on his face, “at the time I did not understand why – why would anyone want as hideous and awful a being as myself? Now, I understand. Finally I realize what you were trying to tell me and Dean Winchester, I would rather have you, cursed or not.” 

The words echoed in Dean’s mind, warmth filling up the places where rage had once been. Ever so slowly, Castiel’s face inched towards Dean’s and their mouths finally met. The hunter felt his entire body relax with relief as their mouths slotted together as if they had been made for each other. Dean’s eyes flickered shut, giving into the sensation of the angel on top of him. He could feel the reassuring weight of Castiel on above him, sighing slightly as the angel’s fingers slipped down from his cheek to rest against his collarbone. 

All too soon, the angel pulled away and Dean’s eyes flickered open. He was thankful to see that the world was still in colour. 

“We have fought many things, you and I,” said Castiel, his lips pulling up into a tiny smile, “and we shall fight this too.” 

Inexplicably, Dean found himself laughing. Not the horrifying demonic laugh from a few minutes earlier, but a genuine amused sound. Castiel’s brow furrowed in confusion. 

“The angel and the demon,” chuckled Dean, reaching up to cover Castiel’s hand with his own and reassure himself that this was real, “how original.” 

With a last smile, Dean pulled the angel down onto him once more.


End file.
